To Belong and To Begin
by HarleQueen21
Summary: Post-s3e1. What if the final time Joan and Mycroft spent together before he faked his death had unforeseen consequences? What if Sherlock went to Joan's apartment in 3x01 after she left the brownstone and found himself in a situation that neither of them was prepared for, or ever thought they would face? (Would anyone be interested in an Epilogue? Or is the ending okay? HQ21)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is an idea I've had for a while now. It's different and yet strikingly similar to some of my previous works, and I felt an overwhelming need to write it. I know it may not be for everyone, especially due to how I feel it would (realistically, if it had happened) end. But it will just be a few chapters long, so please feel free to read and forget. I promise you won't be inflicted with any updates on this particular story after the third chapter!

Thanks,

HQ21

Joan considered her conversation with both Sherlock and Kitty as she walked across the road towards her car, the familiar sound of the brownstone door slamming shut in the distance causing her to blink herself from her thoughts. As she walked the final few steps she found Sherlock's words echoing in her mind, his statements about belonging and about their partnership. His return to New York had been a surprise, but one she quickly found herself recovering from. This was Sherlock Holmes, after all. He had a habit of making decisions which she could not foresee or immediately understand. But it never took her long. And this time it was not his decisions she had to focus on. She had one rather big one to make herself.

Joan reached her car and unlocked it, easing herself gently into the slightly reclined driver's seat and placing the keys in the ignition. As the soft metal clicking sound of the key sliding into place broke the silence within the vehicle Joan found herself recalling a conversation she had with Sherlock recently, when she went to the brownstone after suspecting his return. She had made him aware of how much his short letter and eight months of silence had hurt her, and had vehemently assured him that she did not need him. But as she sat in silence, the darkness creeping across the city once more and marking one less day that she had to make her decision, she found herself wishing that he could help her. But more than that, she wished that she felt able to let him. Joan's thoughts on this particular subject were halted by a sharp pain which shot through her abdomen, causing her to inhale quickly and dig her nails into the steering wheel as she released several short, staggered breaths. The pain passed as quickly as it had appeared, and Joan found herself leaning forward in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel and the other on her stomach, as she waited in stillness and silence, hoping that no similar pains came. She had felt a similar, though much milder pain a few minutes before when she had been talking with Sherlock. It had been one of the many reasons she had tried to get out of the brownstone as quickly as possible, leaving many things remaining unsaid and unaddressed. Although she had ascribed the pain to a psychological fear of what he may deduce about her condition, and how he would react to it, she could not help but worry slightly. But as she had spoken to Kitty outside the pain had disappeared completely, which seemed to confirm her original diagnosis. Even now, as she sat motionless and contemplative in her car, she found herself adhering to this diagnosis. She had been thinking about him in the car which had caused her to experience further pain. Pain which, now she was relaxing and considering it in a more analytical manner, had disappeared.

After a couple of minutes of relative comfort and painlessness Joan slowly retracted her nails from the steering wheel and cautiously leaned back, the coolness of the leather seats soothing her panicked body. Since Sherlock's return a few days ago she had barely slept or eaten, less so than usual. It was unsurprising that the stress was getting to her. Joan swallowed and lowered her gaze from the row of cars ahead, her dark eyes drifting down to her abdomen, where one hand still rested. Joan's hand was open and her fingers splayed tightly and protectively across her curved abdomen, which was concealed by the dark floating material of her dress. Joan placed her right hand tentatively on the other side of her stomach, feeling warmth from the light pressure she applied to her rounded stomach, which was now more prominent than it had been due to the positioning of her hands, which were unintentionally pulling the material across her stomach to reveal her size. Despite her modest size, she did not have long left. Less than a month. Joan felt the familiar burning feeling of pain and uncertainty begin to creep up from the pit of her stomach and seep throughout her body as she considered what she was going to do. What she had to do. _It's the only way_, she had tried to convince herself over the past few months. _It's the safest way. It's the best way_, she thought, repeating the words to herself in her mind, like an internal mantra. _And I don't have a choice_. Joan swallowed hard and released a final shaken breath as she rose her gaze from her abdomen and removed her hands from her stomach, which she found to be more emotionally difficult than she had anticipated. Joan blinked herself from these thoughts and clicked her seatbelt into place before turning the key in the ignition and driving back to her apartment.

Sherlock sat in his armchair by the fire, one hand pressed to his lips as the fingers on his other hand drummed an open case file on his lap. Like Watson, he too found his mind forcing him to recall and relive the conversation they had shared just minutes before. He had picked up one of the case files the Captain had reluctantly given him following some badgering and prying. He had hoped that reading through the case file and analysing the data would provide an ample distraction from his conversation with his former partner, and the feelings of guilt and regret he found searing through his body at the recollection of her replies, her expressions, her eyes. Mostly her eyes. There was a deep sense of sadness and betrayal that he read in her countenance, but especially her eyes. The first time she had seen him since he had returned, when he had lifted the helmet and engaged her in conversation, when they had walked to another room and she had stared him in the eyes and told him of how she didn't need him, he saw anger, betrayal, hurt and accusation upon her features and in her eyes. Whilst she had seemed calmer and less angry during their most recent conversation, her features were drawn and tired, and her expression was one of surrender rather than forgiveness. Not that he felt she owed him forgiveness, of course. He doubted very much whether he actually deserved it. The memory of the immense intensity of the sadness in her eyes convinced him that he did not.

Sherlock closed his eyes in frustration at this thought, and drawing his fingertips over the smooth paper within the case file. He opened his eyes tiredly and stared down at the documentation beneath his fingertips, and as he did so, Watson's words echoed to him once more. But not her condemnation or anguish, or the forgiveness and open-heart that she had shown him just minutes before. This time, what Sherlock Holmes recalled was her offer to assist him should he require it. As Sherlock ran his finger across the thick file in his lap, he found himself hoping that her assistance would be required. Perhaps finding a reason to talk to her in a professional capacity would lead to improvements in their personal relationship. But this thought was forced aside shortly after its emergence. Watson needed space and time to adjust to his return and their conversations. He would not intrude upon that. However, the case would prove to be a useful distraction. Sherlock was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of the brownstone door slamming shut and his new apprentice walking towards him. She lingered in the doorway for a moment, standing confidently in the darkened spot and watching him expectantly, in a way which was not dissimilar to how Watson herself often looked at him. How she used to, at least.

"I will be perusing the materials relating to a new case for a while, Kitty" he stated, his voice normal and his eyes alight. "Would you be so kind as to return to the basement and continue your attempts of escaping from the locked chair? Your current record is three-minutes forty for the dozen locks. See if you can make it three" he stated, watching as she crossed her arms across her chest. He was half expecting her to tell her what she had said to Watson, and what Watson's responses had been. She did not. Instead, she nodded politely towards him and headed towards the basement. As the sound of her descending footsteps mingled with the gentle crackling of the fire, he found his eyes drifting down to the file once more. The thin, veiled and highly complex document which offered him the opportunity of a distraction. A most needed and certainly longed for distraction. Sherlock nodded once, before sitting up in his seat and beginning to flick through the file.

Joan entered her apartment and closed the door tiredly behind her. She walked slowly towards the kitchen, the soft tapping of her shoes creating background noise for her endless thoughts, as she placed her bag, keys and phone on the breakfast bar. She ran her hand across her cheek and towards her eyes, leaning down slightly and exhaling as she did so. She was exhausted. Physically and emotionally, the day had been challenging to say the least. Her pre-existing fears about her condition being discerned by her colleagues, clients or, worst case scenario, Le Milieu, terrified her. If they found out that she was eight months pregnant eight months after the disappearance of Mycroft, whose death Le Milieu may question, she would be a target. But worse than that, her baby would be. Even if they felt certain Mycroft was dead, there was no guarantee that they would not come after his child. Her child. And she would not allow that to happen, which had led to her making a difficult and heart-breaking decision. A decision which was now jeopardised by the return of Sherlock Holmes who, after spending some time with her, would certainly deduce her condition. The more people who knew about her pregnancy, the higher the chances of Le Milieu discovering it. She had been careful over the past few months, wearing light and floating fabrics which highlighted her legs and covered her growing abdomen. But she was reaching the final stages of her pregnancy, and the bump she had worked so hard to conceal was becoming harder to dress covertly.

Joan placed a hand on her stomach and ran her fingers lightly across herself, before pausing as she felt the baby begin to move beneath her hand. As she focused herself on the mesmerising movements of her child, she found herself what Sherlock's reaction would be to his or her very existence. Would he chide her for the error with her birth control? Would he blame his brother entirely, accuse him of taking advantage of Joan? It would not surprise her at all if he were to track down his brother, drag him back to the States and force him to deal with 'the issue at hand', as she could picture him describing her pregnancy. Reaching out to Mycroft would be a natural and very logical idea, but it was one she discarded quickly after learning of her pregnancy. She had no doubt that there would be a way she could contact him, and she was even willing to get in touch with Sherlock in London to do so. But telling Mycroft that she was carrying his child would almost certainly lead to him blowing his cover, revealing himself to be alive, and endangering himself as well as their child. The risk of him or their baby suffering the consequences of Mycroft's association with Le Milieu was unthinkable, and Joan knew that she had to protect them both. Concealing her condition from Mycroft, Sherlock and the rest of the world was the only way she saw fit to do that. And it was tearing her apart.

Joan felt her eyes stinging with tears and her heart pounding heavily against her chest once more as the arguments she had been battling for the past seven months continued to fight her and wear her down. She had no choice, she was trapped, and yet she was still being tormented by her own mind. Joan sighed in frustration and tiredness as she leaned forward slightly and placed her hand on her lower back. She was feeling tired and uncomfortable, and her back was becoming sore and aching intensely. And it wasn't even seven o'clock in the evening. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically, after everything that had transpired over the past few days. She needed to rest. Her baby needed her to rest. Joan considered this for a few moments, with snapshots of memories from the past few days since her reunion with Sherlock swam in her mind. She knew she needed to rest, she needed to switch off from everything and everyone, just for one night. Joan removed her hand from her lower back and turned towards the breakfast bar. She reached for her phone and turned it off, the first time she had done so since she could remember. But after watching the screen go dark she found herself feeling stronger, more confident, empowered. She stared at the lifeless phone on the counter top and turned on the spot, placing her hand back on her lower back as she made her way towards her bedroom, closing the door behind her and changing into a white nightdress which skimmed lightly over her abdomen. Despite the worries and upheaval in her life, Joan Watson fell asleep moments after her head touched the pillow. She remained in a deep and comfortable sleep for almost four hours, until a sharp aching pain spread across her stomach with such intensity that it roused her from her sleep, causing her to sit upright in bed, one hand on her stomach and the other reaching towards her bedside lamp. She knew something had happened before she had even turned on the light, and she pulled the covers from her body as the room filled with artificial white light, revealing a pool of clear liquid which had saturated her sheets and covered her legs. Joan let out several shaken and uncertain breaths as she stared at the bed in disbelief, before another pain shot through her abdomen, more intense and more painful than the one before.

Sherlock spent several hours going over the case, his attentions diverted only to assist his apprentice and respond to the texts, calls and emails which were coming through on his phone. At eleven o'clock that night, his phone began to light up and buzz once more. Sherlock turned sharply to the right and read the caller identification, accepting the call and placing the phone to his ear.

"Captain" he greeted, surprised by the tiredness present in his own voice.

"Holmes. Thanks for pickin' up. Sorry it's so late" Gregson began, the tone of his voice attracting Sherlock's attention. The apologetic manner of his speech made it seem like not only did the Captain feel that calling his newly re-appointed consultant was an imposition, but that the reason he was calling was trivial or unnecessary. Neither of which were statements that Sherlock believed to be true.

"Not at all, Captain" he returned, leaning forward expectantly in his armchair. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Have you seen Miss Watson this evening?" Gregson asked after a moment. Sherlock blinked, the question surprising him somewhat, and causing him to panic slightly.

"She left the brownstone just before seven o'clock" he answered directly, his voice adopting a lower and more serious tone. "Why do you ask?"

"She hasn't been pickin' up her phone, and when I have tried to call her it's gone straight to voicemail, which is unusual" he stated. After a moment's silence from Sherlock Gregson sighed and muttered a few words of apology. "I shouldn't have called, she probably just forgot to charge her cell or something." Sherlock considered this for a moment, and found himself recalling a time when her battery had dropped below forty per-cent and she had produced a charger from her small clutch bag and proceeded to charge her phone in a small café. Watson disliked having a low battery, a dead one was unheard of. When she lived with him in the brownstone, he recalled her having at least three chargers in different rooms on different floors, just in case. Whatever the reason for Gregson's calls going to voicemail, it was not that Watson's phone had died. The only time he had ever encountered his calls being directed straight to voicemail was when she had been kidnapped. The memory of this caused Sherlock's stomach to clench.

"Is she expecting a call from you?" Sherlock asked calmly.

"No" Gregson returned instantly, a guilty sigh following the words. "We had a little conversation earlier and she seemed… I dunno" he sighed. "I just wanted to check she's alright." Sherlock considered these words, and remembered Watson mentioning a recent conversation with Gregson in which she expressed her contentment with her former partner being able to assist the NYPD once more. It was likely that this was the conversation Gregson was referring to.

"I will make sure that she is, of that I can assure you" Sherlock returned with conviction.

"Thanks, Holmes. I'm sure everythin' is fine, but…"

"I know" Sherlock returned, his voice low and even. "Thank you for calling Captain. I'll attend to the matter at once" he stated, hanging up the phone before Gregson could respond.

Sherlock scrolled through his contacts list and found Joan's details, and called the familiar number once more. The phone had barely reached his ear when Joan's recorded voice informed him that she was not currently available. Sherlock closed his eyes and hung up, wrapping his fingers around the phone and considering his options. Watson was probably absolutely fine, curled up on her couch looking over some case files, much like he was doing himself. And yet, the fact that her phone was switched off unsettled him. It was uncharacteristic, highly unlike her. And something about it filled him with a very unsettling feeling. After a few moments of consideration Sherlock sprung from his chair and took a few steps towards the basement door.

"Kitty!" he called down, leaning slightly towards the open door as he awaited a response.

"Yes?" came the tired and clearly unimpressed voice of his apprentice.

"I am going out for a short while. Call me if necessary" he answered, turning on the spot and heading towards the front door of the brownstone before he could listen to her protests.

Sherlock quickly descended the stone steps of the brownstone and held an arm up towards an approaching taxi, which parked by his side. Sherlock leaned down and gave Watson's address to the elderly driver, who drove him through the artificially lit city that he had so missed, and towards his former partner's new apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

Joan placed one hand on her tense abdomen as she tried to breathe through the pain, which was travelling across her stomach and towards her back, and almost caused her to cry out. She released a staggered breath before inhaling short rapid breaths and leaning back slightly, her wide eyes opening as she stared up at the ceiling and blinked through a haze of tears. The pain in the abdomen was beginning to subside, but this gave her little cause for relief. She knew that she was experiencing contractions, and her waters had recently broken. Her back was aching and her whole body was trembling, despite the fact that she could feel a thin layer of sweat across her burning skin.

As soon as Joan had recovered from the pain she found her thoughts becoming clearer and more logical. Her clothes and bedding were soaked, she had to get out of the bed. Joan stared down at her abdomen for a moment, watching as the soft white fabric of her nightdress clung closely to her stomach, which seemed bigger than she remembered. Joan lowered a shaking hand to the top of the duvet and pushed the covers aside, revealing the soaked bedding beneath her. The bottom few inches of her nightdress was saturated with liquid, causing the material to cling to her thighs. But as Joan took in the sight before her, she found herself feeling a sense of panic which took her breath away at something she detected beneath her clothing. She leaned forward slightly and gently tugged some of the material of the dress further up her legs, which confirmed her suspicions, and revealed a small but notable amount of blood between her legs and upon her bedding. Joan swallowed at the sight, trying to remain calm as she breathed through the panic and fear of her current state. Her medical knowledge was overtaking her own thought processes, and she found herself slightly calmed by the knowledge that the amount of blood she had lost was not unusual. However, it did indicate that her labour was progressing quickly, and that she was in a later stage of the process than she had initially anticipated.

Joan removed her hand from her dress and turned to the side of the bed, her expression calm and her eyes bright as she slowly eased her legs over the edge of the bed and planted her feet on the cold floor. Joan felt hot and uncomfortable and as though her skin were on fire. And yet her teeth were chattering and her limbs were trembling. She felt as if her medical knowledge and ability to rationalise were trying to exert a stronger and more successful influence than the feelings of panic and fear that she was desperately trying to suppress. Even in the most frightening of circumstances, including the time she was kidnapped, Joan Watson was not prone to panicking. She would calmly take in her surroundings and consider all necessary factors before acting in a rational and logical manner. When she had first woken up bound to a chair she had been hazy from the chloroform, which kept her relatively calm and subdued for a few minutes until she had regained full consciousness. But she was not currently under the influence of such a narcotic. Instead, she had been woken up in the middle of the night by agonising pains, a situation which had been exacerbated by the fact that her waters had broken and she was bleeding. And she was only eight months along. Joan found her trademark calmness return to her as she placed one hand on the bed and the other on the bedside table, as she slowly eased herself into a standing position. As she rose, she found herself thinking about the prematurity of her baby, whose arrival was imminent. It was a few weeks early, but her scans had indicated that the child was healthy, both in size and well-being. She had had no issues in her pregnancy, except low blood pressure on a couple of occasions. But she was healthy, and she had made sure that she had done everything she could to ensure her child was too. It would be fine. Everything would be fine.

Joan felt calm as she stood, her tiredness and confusion abating completely, and being overtaken by the knowledge that she needed to act quickly. She had very little time. Joan turned to face the closed doors which separated her bedroom from the rest of the apartment, and remembered that her phone was on the counter top in the kitchen. Although she knew she had little time, she needed the phone with her. Although she doubted that the emergency services would arrive before her baby, she needed to be able to reach out to trained medics if something went wrong. She had delivered dozens of babies during her time as a doctor, but she knew that this was different. She also knew that she became unwell or lost consciousness shortly after the delivery, the baby would be in danger. And she would not allow that to happen. Joan removed her hand from the bedside table and turned to the right, taking a couple of confident steps past the bed and towards the door. Before she could get halfway across the room another contraction struck her with a force so strong that it left her breathless. She gasped and suppressed a cry as she battled to control her breathing through the pain. Her eyes were shut tightly and her left arm was wrapped securely across her abdomen. After a few moments of unbearable pain Joan felt her legs begin to weaken beneath her, and she edged closer to the bed before slowly lowering herself to the ground, resting on her lower legs as she leaned forward onto the bed and tried to stop herself from screaming. She dug her fingers into the soft material of her duvet cover and clenched her hand as she worked through another contraction, her body trembling as she did so. Once the pain began to abate, Joan quickly tried to regain control of her breathing as she leaned against the bed, her tired body weakening beneath her. She sat beside the bed, her legs by her side and her arm across her stomach, as she felt herself tensing once more at the latest contraction.

After discerning that his driver was a former accountant in his mid-forties with an unfortunate fondness for his brother's blonde fiancé, Sherlock spent the majority of the fifteen minute taxi journey debating whether he should continue with his current actions. He sighed in frustration once more as he turned towards the window, watching the bright lights of other vehicles as they cruised through the city, the sound of their tyres upon the ground amplified due to the falling rain. Sherlock tapped his fingers upon his thigh in a combination of annoyance and confusion at his current dilemma. He did not wish to make Watson feel smothered, which would be both understandable and justifiable, given that he had had his new apprentice follow her for several weeks and was currently on his way to her apartment, where he was about to turn up unannounced at a quarter to midnight. This particular logic had been pushing itself to the forefront of his mind for a considerable part of the journey, and the fear of his losing her already small level of forgiveness and acceptance of his return had almost caused him to turn back on at least three occasions during the journey. But each time he came close to asking the driver to take him back to the brownstone he found himself remembering the conversation he had with Gregson, who was clearly concerned about Joan, and with good reason. The fact that her phone was off and that she had not returned any of their calls was certainly cause for concern. Joan's phone was always on and within a hand's reach, and on the rare occasions she did miss a call from him she had always rung back quickly, even when they had had a disagreement. Usually after arguing she would text a brief reply, but in any case, there was a reply. Unlike now.

Despite how many logical reasons for her not responding to his calls or to Gregson's, whenever he came close to assuring himself that Joan Watson was probably perfectly alright, he found himself remembering the night he left countless voicemails on her phone, the day she had been kidnapped. This factor eroded all the logic behind the explanations he had come up with (all eleven of them) which could explain why she was not answering her phone. The fact that his perfectly logical and rational deductions were being mercilessly beaten down by his fears for her after her kidnapping ordeal consternated him considerably. And it was this deep-seated sense of fear in the pit of his stomach which drove him through the night to her apartment, and which prevented him from turning back. As the cab pulled up beside her building Sherlock began preparing himself for being justifiably berated by a no doubt pyjama-clad Watson, who would probably be curled up in a chair with a book or some case files. But he would accept that. He would nod silently in agreement, lightly mock her chiding, and then leave her to her night. At least he would know that she was safe from the clutches of Alana March's associates, or any other number of individuals whose incarceration Watson had worked towards in his eight-month absence. Joan Watson's wrath was a small price to pay in exchange for knowledge of her safety. Sherlock's fingers stopped their tapping as he reached into his pocket for some money to pay the cab driver, who really needed to be more discrete about his clandestine meetings with his soon-to-be sister-in-law. Sherlock handed the money over to the man as he closed the cab door behind him and looked up at Joan's building.

Sherlock glanced around the familiar area, noticing nothing immediately unusual or out of place, before turning back to the building and heading inside. Sherlock glanced across the premises curiously, nodding as he entered the elevator and pressed the correct number. Kitty had described the location admirably and with a high degree of accuracy. As Sherlock travelled up in the elevator he found the familiar feelings of doubt and uncertainty return to him once more, much to his annoyance. But as the elevator doors opened in front of him he stepped out immediately and walked confidently down the corridor. He would not leave Joan Watson again. He had abandoned her enough for one lifetime. Nevertheless, as he reached her door and rose his hand to knock, he found his heart pounding mercilessly against his chest, and his mouth becoming dry. Sherlock cleared his throat and brought his hand back to knock, but before his knuckles could connect with the door his acute hearing picked up a startling sound from the other side of the door. Sherlock stopped instantly, lowering his hand and taking a step closer to the door, and pressing his ear gently to it, his fingertips spreading across the soft oak door. There was a brief silence, which Sherlock listened to intently, before a similar sound rang out again, a sound which caused Sherlock's body to tense as an icy chill ran through him. The sound was of Joan Watson suppressing a scream.

Sherlock pulled his ear from the door and stared at it for a moment, before reaching into his inner jacket pocket and producing his lock picking kit. His heart was racing and his breathing rate was increasing notably as he extracted the tools he needed and set to work on her lock, which took less than six seconds to pick, the sound of the muffled cry playing over and over in his mind in a seemingly endless loop as he worked. Upon hearing the click of the now unlocked lock Sherlock pushed it open slowly and silently before taking a tentative step into the apartment. He looked around it briefly as he continued to walk slowly forward, his feet moving soundlessly upon the floor as he made his way through the darkened room. The light which was shining through the partially-closed blinds showed the objects and layout of the room, which Sherlock observed briefly as he made his way through the apartment. The apartment was open-plan, with the kitchen area to his immediately left and the living area directly before him and to the right. Directly ahead and to the right was a large door which he successfully deduced led to Watson's bedroom.

As Sherlock reached the centre of the apartment he paused for a moment, listening out carefully for any further sounds. The apartment was silent and dimly lit, but as he walked through the apartment and towards the bedroom he noticed a pool of white light which was emanating from beneath the door. Sherlock turned to the left and placed his lock-picking tools upon the counter-top. As he gently lowered them onto the surface the light from the window danced upon various other objects upon the counter-top, which Sherlock quickly identified as Watson's cell phone, which appeared to be turned off, and a set of keys. Before he could consider this further a sharp cry came from behind the door, followed by ragged breathing and light sobbing. Sherlock turned to the sound and walked briskly toward it, his heart pounding mercilessly against his chest. Sherlock walked quickly across the apartment, reaching the door in less than three seconds. He placed his hand upon it and pulled it open in a single deft movement, the brightness of the white light within the room dazzling for a moment as he took a step into the room and paused immediately, his newly-adjusted eyes falling upon the figure of his former partner, who was trembling upon the ground. Sherlock's analytical eyes run over Joan quickly, observing the damp bottom inches of her nightdress, her trembling figure and her staggered and uneven breathing. She had her back to him and was leaning against the bed, her face pressed to the duvet cover which her free hand was clutching at with such strength that her knuckles are turning a deathly shade of white. Before he could speak, Joan turned around, her large and tear-stained eyes widening slightly as she observed him.

Joan's contractions were currently less than a minute apart, and the pain was becoming more than she could bear. She drew her legs close to her body and leaned heavily against the bed, pressing her face against the duvet covers and crying out in pain into it, as she wrapped her arm across her abdomen, which was tense and incredibly painful. As she attempted to breathe through the latest contraction, Joan was vaguely aware of the sound of her door sliding open. But the door sliding open seemed like a small sound in the vast distance when considering the immense pain Joan was battling, and she forgot about it within a second of it having registered in her mind, as the contraction she was experiencing sent waves of pain throughout her body. Joan clutched the duvet cover tightly in her free hand and held on to it as she grit her teeth and cried out. As the contraction finally subsided Joan breathed out raggedly, pushing herself back slightly from the bed with a trembling arm. But as she found herself aware of the room once more and experiencing a temporary moment of calm, she found her mind taking her back to the sound of the opening door. Joan's breath hitched in her throat and her body continued to tremble, as she slowly turned her head to the left and towards her door, and the tall figure who was bathed in the artificial light. As her eyes drifted slowly up his body she found the initial shock at his presence dismissed almost as instantly as it appeared, only to be replaced with a fear bordering on abject terror. Joan's chest tightened and her stomach clenched as she took in the familiar figure of Sherlock Holmes, whose eyes were ablaze with fear and confusion, an expression which she returned, her wide eyes staring uncertainly into his.

Sherlock stared back at Joan, observing her flushed cheeks, red eyes and trembling figure. Her eyes were wide and tearful and her once ragged breathing appeared to have stopped altogether the moment she turned around to see him. As Sherlock broke his gaze from Joan's own he noticed the red liquid upon Joan's inner thighs, which were lightly covered by the thin material of her nightdress, which was clinging tightly to her abdomen. Joan watched as Sherlock's eyes drifted slowly up her body and paused at her abdomen, which she was cradling protectively with her left arm. Joan's eyes did not leave Sherlock's face, but she had little doubt that her dress was clinging so tightly to her that the bump she had been concealing for several months was now prominent. And from the look upon his face as he finally lifted his eyes from her stomach and met her gaze, Joan could tell that Sherlock had correctly deduced not only her condition, but the fact that she was in labour. Joan held Sherlock's gaze confidently, swallowing the lump in her throat and trying to keep the panic and pain which was radiating through her body at bay. Several seconds of silence passed as the former partners stared into the depths of each other's eyes, the power of speech evading them both, as the standing figure of Sherlock Holmes gazed down upon the huddled Joan Watson who, despite her pain and trembling, was facing him with conviction. Their eyes held each other's gaze for several seconds, and Joan watched as Sherlock's arms, which were as tense and rigid as the rest of his body, slowly flexed slightly, as he blinked himself out of his stupor. Sherlock blinked twice, before staring at Joan intently once more, and taking a small step forward, as though entering the room would somehow alter the scene before him. Before she could react, Joan heart Sherlock's voice break through the silence, using a tone she had never heard before, and which almost startled her.

"Watson…?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hi everyone. Thank you so much for your support of this story. I know the Joan/Mycroft relationship was not something everyone was keen on, but I felt the storyline I have been working on was a possibility, and I just couldn't resist! This story was originally meant to be three chapters long, but I'm not sure that this was a realistic idea of mine, and I want to do the story justice, so I am extending it to five chapters (definitely five, I swear!). Again, thank you for your support of this story, particularly as it isn't exactly something which is popular amongst many fans. Your reviews, favourites and follows have been really encouraging, so thank you to everyone who has done so. And thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read the story. I hope you enjoy this latest instalment. As always, any issues/problems/suggestions, please let me know.

Thanks,

HQ21

Joan stared up at Sherlock with her wide and tear-stained eyes, the sound of his voice calling her name in such a low and uncertain tone causing her breath to catch in her throat and her chest to tighten. She looked up at him, his tall figure bathed in the artificial light from her bedside lamp. He was wearing a bespoke suit, white shirt and waist jacket, his well-dressed appearance completely contrasting her bloodied and dishevelled one. Sherlock wore a look on his face she had never seen before, an expression somewhere between fear and confusion. And as she allowed her eyes to drift slowly up to his, she could have sworn that she saw pain and hurt staring back at her. He had taken a small, hesitant step towards her, and was watching her expectantly with a burning intensity. But as soon as he had taken the first step he paused, as if an invisible wall had risen from the space that divided them and prevented him from moving closer to her. Before she could consider this any further, Joan was struck with another wave of pain which radiated through her entire body, travelling across her abdomen and body with such force and intensity that it took her breath away, suppressing the scream that she felt rising in her throat. Instead she made a suppressed crying sound, almost like a pained whimper, and turned to the side, drawing her legs closer to her body as she shut her eyes tightly and breathed through the pain.

Sherlock stared at Joan, his eyes travelling across her face and body once more, taking in everything before him, and wondering how he could have missed it all. Her curved abdomen was small, but she was clearly at least eight months along. As he stared at the thin white material which clung tightly to her swollen stomach he found himself remembering the outfits she had been wearing over the past few days. The light, floating material, the dark colours, her dressing to accentuate her legs rather than the rest of her body. And with this, he found himself reading new meaning into her anger with him, her disappointment and her sadness. For the past few months he had berated himself for leaving her so soon after her kidnapping and the revelations and subsequent disappearance of his brother. But now as he looked down upon her, her brave face staring at him through her tear-stained eyes and bloodied state, he realised that he had let her down in a way he never thought possible, due to circumstances he could not possibly have anticipated. Sherlock's eyes travelled quickly from Joan's stomach to her face, his eyes meeting hers and holding her gaze as she looked at him with an expression mirroring his own. As well as the fear, sadness and uncertainty in her eyes, there was something else that Sherlock quickly detected. A look, an expression that confirmed what he had already known to be true the moment he had discerned her condition. It was his brother's child. Before he could say another word or take another step he watched as Joan's entire body tensed slightly and her eyes snapped shut. She turned her head from him and drew her legs to her, suppressing a muffled cry as she grabbed a handful of the duvet from her bed, which she leaned heavily in to. Sherlock felt his heart pounding against his chest as his entire body seemed to be turning into a frozen, immovable mass, his feet feeling heavy and unmovable since the first step he took towards her. But as he watched her try to deal with the pain she was currently experiencing whilst clearly attempting to shield her from it, he found himself acting instinctively, his mind and his connection to her overpowering his fear and uncertainty, and the frozen fear which had overtaken his body.

Sherlock walked quickly towards Joan, dropping to his knees when he was four or five inches from her body. His eyes focused on the increasing amount of blood which was running slowly down her thighs and seeping through the light fabric of her nightdress. Her arm was wrapped protectively across her abdomen as she leaned heavily against the bed, her tense body and suppressed cries causing her whole being to tremble. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from heat and exertion, but there was a pale sheen which was travelling across her face, which he put down to the blood loss which was increasing by the moment. Watson seemed completely unaware of Sherlock's presence beside her, although considering the amount of pain he could see she was experiencing he questioned whether she would register her knowledge of his presence even if she could. As he knelt beside her, his eyes darting across her frantically as he desperately tried to analyse the situation, he found himself experiencing an overwhelming urge to touch her. To put his hand upon her shoulder, to touch her, to hold her close to him. He slowly leaned forward and rose his right hand towards her, his hand travelling towards her left shoulder, his fingertips just inches from her skin. But before he placed a hand upon her his eyes drifted back down towards the blood which was pooling between her legs, as well as the pained expression on her face she was trying to hide. Her breathing was stabilising noticeable, but she was in agony, and she needed urgent medical attention. Sherlock moved his hand from near Joan's shoulder and extracted his phone from his inner jacket pocket, dialling the emergency services number with slightly trembling fingers. But before he could hit the second 'one', Joan's voice drew him instantly from his actions.

"It's too late" she stated, her voice low and slightly breathless, as she recovered from the most recent contraction. "They won't make it" she added quickly, before Sherlock even had a chance to respond. Joan opened her wide eyes and looked directly at him, watching as his shining blue eyes found hers and stared at her with the same lost, uncertain expression she had been staring at since his arrival. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly before he lowered his gaze to her abdomen. Joan watched as his expression softened slightly and his body lost some of its rigid posture. He slowly lowered his phone into his jacket pocket and looked up at Joan with a look of conviction and determination which she recognised.

"Where's your medical bag?" he asked directly, his voice low but calm. Joan stared at him for a moment, exhaling shakily before replying.

"What?" she replied, her voice low and uncertain, as her breathing began to become erratic as she dealt with a combination of fear and pain. Sherlock tilted his head to the side slightly so that their eyes met, and he gave her a reassuring look for a few moments until her chest stopped heaving and her breathing became less audible.

"Your medical bag, Watson" he returned, his voice low and calm, and filled with kindness. Joan stared at him for a moment, watching the look of certainty in his eyes, as the familiar expression of dedication and certainty befell his features, concealing his fear and the trembling of his very being. "Where is it?" he asked, his voice gentle but urgent. Joan knew what he was suggesting and found her heart beating violently against her chest as her stomach clenched in apprehension. But at that moment, this was the only choice she had. The only choice her baby had. Her eyes filled will tears as she looked up at him, attempting a confident expression.

"In the wardrobe" she returned in a low shaken voice, as a single tear fell down her cheek. Sherlock nodded once in understanding before pushing himself up from the ground into a standing position and heading towards her wardrobe, as Joan quickly wiped away the tears which had spilled from her heavy eyes. She exhaled a shaking breath as she removed her hand from her abdomen and pulled her dress down a few inches to cover more of her thighs. The irony of this action struck her a moment later, and she found herself suppressing a nervous smile as she planted her hands on the floor and tried to push herself up from the ground. Her limbs felt heavy and her body was trembling, and the moment she rose a couple of inches from the ground she felt the pain in her lower back and pelvis increased exponentially, causing her to quickly lower herself back down and gasp out in pain. Sherlock, who had pulled the medical bag from the bottom of her wardrobe and then proceeded to head into her ensuite bathroom and gather some freshly laundered towels and some hair clips from the bathroom, heard her cry and turned instantly towards her, heading quickly towards her as she lowered herself back towards the ground.

"Watson?" he asked as he reached her.

Joan looked up at him, watching as his eyes narrowed in confusion as he looked upon her. Her eyes drifted from his face to the black leather bag and towels he was carrying, and the reality of their current situation struck her with an almost physical force. She parted her lips to speak but found herself devoid of the ability to. She breathed in deeply and shut her eyes, turning to the side and staring at the open door. She felt a familiar sensation of cold trembling pass over her entire body, causing her to shiver and her teeth to chatter as she attempted to quell the panic that was rising within her. A panic and trembling which she was distracted on when the scent of Sherlock and the feeling of his body next to hers drew her attention towards him.

"Watson" he stated gently, causing Joan to turn towards him and watch as he placed the black leather case beside her, and the warm white towels next to it.

"Why are you here?" she asked in a low and shaking voice, her eyes wide and tearful. "What made you come here?" Sherlock watched her for a moment before blinking once and inhaling sharply.

"I was concerned about your well-being" he stated simply, before glancing down at her abdomen, which she was cradling protectively once more. "Though I see I am approximately eight months too late." Joan released a small breath of air as she spoke, and Sherlock watched as her wide eyes softened slightly, and adopted a sanguine expression.

"Eight and a half" she returned in a low tone, watching as Sherlock nodded in understanding at her confirmation of what she felt certain he already knew. Before he could respond Joan tensed as another contraction struck her, causing her to push her hand onto the ground as she tried to breathe through it. She was vaguely aware of Sherlock talking to her, the rhythmic sound of his voice providing a baseline to which she breathed to as she battled the intense agony of the latest contraction.

Sherlock watched as Joan's face contorted with pain and she turned from him, her body tense yet trembling as she releases small cries or staggered breaths. The initial shock of Watson's condition and the uncertainty of how to act to benefit her best disappears almost entirely as he watches her battle an unthinkable pain, and Sherlock felt a level of eerie calm and confidence sweep over his mind and body. He finds this less difficult than he would have imagined, and does not question it to any great degree as he allows his newfound confidence to spread throughout his body. He has no doubt that this is aided by the surreal nature of the current situation, which does not feel real. Sherlock rose from the ground once more and headed back to the bathroom, pulling open the medicine cabinet and removing some items, before picking up a flannel from the sink and soaking it in cool water, which he then rings out.

Sherlock walked quickly from the bathroom and towards Joan, crouching beside her once more and acting quickly as she comes to the end of the latest contraction. He takes the top towel off the pile of three and lays it on the floor to his left, placing the hairpins, scissors and other items upon it. His eyes then dart back towards Joan, whose breathing patterns reveals that she is coming to the end of her contraction. Sherlock leans forward slightly and gently presses the damp flannel to her forehead, watching as she releases a soft breath as her features become more relaxed, and her wide eyes slowly open. She watches him with a mixture of uncertainty and apprehension as he gently moves the flannel across her forehead, the cold material providing a temporary reprieve for her burning skin. She stares at him for a few moments, watching as his eyes drift across her face and towards her abdomen once more, before returning to her own gaze.

None of this feels real to her. The labour, the pain, him. His presence, his being here. If she could not feel droplets of cold water from the soothing flannel trickling slowly down her face, she would almost be able to convince herself that he was a mirage, that he was not there. They had spoken just a few hours before, a conversation which offered the first signs of forgiveness and the potential or renewing their friendship. But now, just hours later, he sat beside her in her room, attempting to provide her with some comfort and assistance as she prepared herself for the early arrival of his brother's child. He had seemed shocked at first, and very confused. Confusion was not an expression she was used to seeing upon the face of Sherlock Holmes, and neither was the hurt, doubt and fear that also defined his features. But one thing she had not seen yet, something she felt certain he would display if he ever learned of her condition, was anger. Joan inhaled a slow shaking breath as she stared into his eyes, searching their depths for any sign of anger or disappointment. To her surprise she found none. But whether this caused her relief or further guilt, she could not tell.

"Watson, I need you to listen to me" came the calm and composed voice of her former partner, whose words drew her from her thoughts. She blinked herself from her musings and looked him directly in the eyes, watching as he looked upon her with a calm yet imploring expression. "Your fears are unwarranted, I assure you" he began, staring at her with certainty as he spoke, and watching as her jaw tensed slightly and her eyes widened. "I am not angry that you did not apprise me of your condition in some time over the past eight months" he stated, speaking calmly and clearly, and watching as Joan swallowed hard. "I am only sorry that my departure following the way I handled your relationship with my brother and your desire to leave the brownstone made it difficult if not impossible for you to confide in me" he added, watching as her eyes filled with tears which she attempted to blink away. Sherlock watched as Joan regained her composure and turned back towards him with a confident yet anticipatory look. "I am sorry that you had to go through this alone" he continued, watching as Joan's breathing returned to normal and her eyes held his gaze with confidence. "But you are not alone now. And I am not going to leave you." Joan watched him for a moment, her dark eyes scanning his face for any signs of fear or anger, but she found none.

"He doesn't know" Joan stated, her voice low and barely audible. "I didn't tell him. I couldn't."

"I know" Sherlock returned immediately, watching as Joan's downcast eyes flicked up to him immediately. "I also know how difficult that must have been for you to do, and how conflicted you must have felt about your decision" he added, watching as Joan continued to look at him with a confident expression which was tinged with pain. "But that is not what we need to focus on right now, is it?" he asked, watching as she slowly shook her head in response.

"No" she stated, her voice low but confident. Sherlock watched her for a moment to ensure that she was alright.

"From the brief time I have been present your contractions appear to be approximately one minute apart, yes?"

"Yes" she returned, inhaling as she spoke, pushing her hand onto the floor once more as she felt a familiar aching pain spread across her abdomen and lower back. The pain was similar to the others she had experienced over the past fifteen minutes or so, but with one notable difference that caused her to visibly pale. She felt pressure in her lower back and pelvis.

"Watson?" Sherlock asked, watching her curiously as she breathed through the latest contraction. Something was different about this one. The way she opened her eyes suddenly, the way her right arm trembled as she attempted to support herself. The way her eyes widened and became incredibly fearful. At first he thought her bleeding had increased, but after a brief glance ruled this out he found himself reaching the true cause of Joan's fear and discomfort. "Watson, do you need to push?" he asked, watching as Joan processed the words as she breathed through the pain. Joan did not respond immediately, but Sherlock watched as she pushed the heels of her feet onto the floor, her toes and fingers clenching as her whole body tensed. After a few moments she pressed her hands to the ground and rose slightly, crying out in pain and panic as she trembled.

Until that moment Sherlock had remained several inches from her, allowing her space so she did not feel smothered, despite everything inside him urging him to get closer to her. But as he watched her try to suppress the agony she was battling alone, he found that he could not remain so far from her for a moment longer, and not just for emotional reasons, but practical ones too. Joan's current pain levels, actions and his knowledge of the labour process informed him that she was feeling the urge to push. Sherlock picked up a towel from the small stack by his side and draped it across her slightly risen thighs, which caused her to turn towards him and look up at him with a nervous yet accepting expression.

Joan could feel Sherlock's hands on top of the towel he was placing gently across her thighs, and she found the small degree of physical contact they were sharing provided her with a notable degree of comfort. Joan relaxed slightly, her racing heart and trembling body overcome with a temporary sense of calm, as her confident partner continued to assist her. There was no awkwardness or embarrassment about the experience they were sharing. Whether this was due to necessity and the urgency of the situation, or solely because of the incredible pain she was experiencing, Joan was not aware. Though in a brief moment of clarity between contractions she decided that it was probably a combination of those factors, and was aided by the natural closeness and openness which defined their complex relationship, even if it had been placed on hold for almost a year. Joan watched as Sherlock opened her medical bag wider and searched through it, selecting some instruments and placing them beside other items he had arranged on the towel to her right. She had briefly examined the items he had placed on the towel a few minutes before, but her increased pain levels in the time which had elapsed since meant that her ability to focus on the new items he was adding was severely limited. The contractions she was experiencing were sending waves of seemingly endless pain throughout her body, and the pressure she felt in her lower back and hips was increasing with each contraction. She knew that her body was telling her to push, and with each wave of pain which travelled through her body she found herself automatically preparing herself to do so. It was almost time, and she knew it. And she was terrified. And somehow he sensed this.

"Watson" he stated, his low and confident tone causing her to look up towards him instantly. Joan's back was pressed against the side of the bed, her hands were pushing down on the ground and the towel was draped across her slightly-parted legs. Her skin was damp and flushed, and she was afraid. But as she looked up and saw Sherlock's confident expression from his kneeling position by her feet, she found herself relaxing slightly. She gave little thought to embarrassment or to modesty, but was focusing on the intelligence and capability of the man before her, who was dealing with such a shocking emergency situation incredibly well. Joan glanced down from Sherlock's eyes for a moment and caught sight of her watch, staring at it in confusion. Although it felt as though Sherlock had been with her for hours, it had really been only four minutes. "Watson" Sherlock repeated, sensing her nervousness and apprehension. She looked up from her wrist and towards his face, watching as he looked upon her imploringly. He did not need to speak any further, she knew what he was trying to say.

Joan nodded quickly, pushing herself up slightly from the ground and adjusting her position. Joan slowly parted her legs further as Sherlock knelt up slightly and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it aside before looking back up at her, his eyes asking for the permission which she had already granted. Joan nodded, and Sherlock moved wordlessly towards her, lifting the bottom of the towel and pushing it over her knees. Joan felt his warm hands upon her lower thighs, his fingers travelling across the side of her knees.

Sherlock felt Joan's body begin to tense beneath his fingertips, and his eyes darted up to her face as she inhaled breath sharply and leaned forward slightly, the heels of her feet digging into the ground.

"It's alright, Watson" Sherlock soothed, speaking to her encouragingly as she pushed through the pain of the contraction. "You are doing wonderfully" he stated, glancing from her face to between her legs as she pushed. After a few moments Joan exhaled several staggered breaths and cried out slightly, suppressing her cries with several shaking breaths. Sherlock looked up towards her and felt her legs tremble beneath his touch. Several seconds later Joan's breathing recovered and she turned back towards him, her eyes meeting his with a weary, nervous expectancy. "Your labour is progressing extremely quickly" he explained, not doubting that she had already reached the same conclusion. "The baby's head was visible as you pushed" he added, speaking slowly and calmly. "The child should be here within the next couple of contractions." Joan knew this too. But somehow, hearing Sherlock say it out loud whilst his hands were upon her thighs was a prospect which terrified her almost as much as the labour itself. Before she could respond to him a familiar wave of pain struck her and she leaned forward once more, inhaling sharply as she pushed as hard as she could through the latest contraction.

Sherlock watched as Joan's face became flushed and her hair fell over her shoulders as she pushed valiantly through the latest contraction. As the contraction came to an end he felt her legs tremble in his grasp as she released several whimpering cries.

"It's alright" he soothed, his voice soft and low, but reaching her even through her tiredness and pain. Before he could say another word Joan looked up at him, her tear-filled eyes meeting his, which were mere inches from her.

"No it's not" she responded breathlessly, before another contraction struck her, and she began to push once more. Sherlock spoke to her encouragingly as she pushed, but she heard few of his words. The pain was incredible and the burning sensation she was experiencing was intense. She thought she screamed on a couple of occasions but could not be certain, and was not sure that she wished to remember. She pushed as hard as she could as she leaned forward, her hands gripping the material of her nightdress and digging her nails into it fiercely. She was vaguely aware of Sherlock's hands applying gentle pressure to her thighs, encouraging her to move her legs further apart. He was speaking to her too, but his words were blurred and unclear. She complied with the command of his hands, moving her legs further apart and feeling his hands disappear from her body altogether. After what felt like hours of pushing Joan let out a shuddering scream as a wave of relief swept through her body and the pain began to subside, as the sound of a baby crying filled the room.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of the baby crying caused Joan to emerge instantly from the painful and hazy world she had existed in during her labour, and she found herself fully conscious and alert in the bedroom in her apartment, her breathing slowing and her body aching, as she stared at her former partner, who was bending over the tiny infant. Joan swallowed, pressed her trembling hands onto the ground and slowly lowered her legs, pushing herself forward slightly in an attempt to see the baby, who Sherlock was currently wrapping in one of her warm white towels. The baby was concealed completely from her view, with just his or her gentle cries announcing the presence of the tiny human being. Joan stared at the carefully wrapped bundle in Sherlock's arms for a few moments, her heart racing and an indescribable feeling of panic and impatience rising within her, which seemed to intensify each moment that she was unable to see her baby. Her eyes drifted quickly to Sherlock, whose had just finished wrapping the child in the soft towel and was gazing down with wide eyes heavy with emotion. Sherlock was holding the baby in a nervous and uncertain manner, but with incredible care and consideration which she would have found almost touching, had the fact that she had not yet seen her child not caused her to feel a level of desperation that rendered her breathless.

"Sherlock?" she asked, her voice low and hesitant. The sound of her voice broke Sherlock from his thoughts and he turned instantly towards her, lifting his head so that their eyes met, his wide and unblinking ones staring deep into hers.

It had quickly become apparent that Watson's labour was further advanced than he had initially realised. Despite this, he was not expecting the infant to be born less than eight minutes after he had discerned her condition. Watson had been stronger and more determined during childbirth than he could ever have imagined. He knew she was strong and resilient, but her bravery and endurance during her labour amazed him, as she herself continued to. She had tried not to scream but had done so on a couple of occasions, releasing an agonising and terrified scream which he could never imagine as coming from her, but she was valiant. He spoke to her consolingly and encouragingly, and after a few minutes she had successfully delivered the child. Sherlock had placed a towel beneath her as soon as she had started pushing, and the moment the baby had been born he had placed the child carefully upon the towel and clamped the cord with hairpins before cutting it, then wrapping the child securely in the soft white towel. Sherlock had found himself acting instinctively and with little thought, his hands overtaking his mind as he assisted Joan and the infant, whose initial cries were beginning to subside slightly as he held the child more securely to his chest, as he adjusted his arms so he was almost cradling the baby. Sherlock was surprised to find himself feeling an indescribable draw to the child who, despite being less than a minute old, seemed to rouse in him intense feelings of protectiveness and loyalty to a degree he only experienced with a few people, including Watson. And although this feeling was comparable, it was somehow different. This feeling puzzled him, as did his inability to describe it. Sherlock looked down at the child and took in the dark hair and eyes, the light pink lips and the delicate skin. The baby's eyes had remained closed for several moments, but as he looked down upon the baby the newborn's eyes slowly opened, and he found himself gazing into a beautiful pair of wide and intelligent eyes which appeared to be the combination of Watson's and his own. He would have stared into those eyes for an eternity had Watson's voice not drawn him back into the present moment. Upon hearing her call his name he looked up instantly, his whole body filling with a curious cocktail of emotions which he could not describe.

Sherlock looked up at Watson, whose cheeks were flushed and whose breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling as she slowly lowered her legs to the ground. Sherlock's attention was immediately drawn to her eyes, which were wide and glassy, and focused on the towel-wrapped bundle he was holding in his arms. After mentally chastising himself for his un-thinking Sherlock pushed himself up onto his knees and leaned forward, gently passing the baby into Watson's arms. She leaned forward instinctively, holding her arms out and accepting the child as Sherlock gently lowered the light bundle into her grasp. Sherlock watched as his former partner's entire body relaxed as she held the baby in her arms.

"You have a daughter" he said in a low and gentle voice, his eyes drifting from the baby's face to Watson's. Joan nodded slowly in understanding, her lips playing into a small smile and her eyes glistening, before the look of concentration and intelligence that Sherlock recognised swept across her features.

Joan looked down at the baby in her arms and felt herself relaxing entirely as she held her close. The baby's eyes were open and looking up at her, her wide-eyes watching her with an intelligence which she had seldom seen in children of that age. Her eyes were captivating, and Joan found herself drawn towards the familiarity of the gaze, which reminded her very much of Sherlock. After a few moments Joan turned her attention to the baby's face, which was beautiful. Her nose and lips were similar to Joan's own, and her hair was dark and soft. The baby had stopped crying seconds after being placed in Joan's arms, and she could feel her moving her arms and legs beneath the carefully-wrapped towel as the sound of her soft gurgling noises filled the silence.

Joan held the child for a short while longer memorising every look and expression and savouring every precious moment. After assuring herself that the baby was fully conscious and alert, and appeared to be breathing without difficulty, she lowered her legs to the ground and placed the baby gently in her lap. Sherlock watched as Joan opened the towel and looked down upon her daughter, who began kicking her legs and moving her arms the moment the towel had been removed. Joan placed her hand gently upon the baby's chest, running her fingertips across her smooth skin as she tested her reflexes and gently lifted her arms and legs. Joan explored the baby's hands, fingers, feet and toes, checking her over completely, before resting her fingers lightly over the baby's heart, which beat strongly against her hand.

"She's strong" Joan mumbled, the first words she had spoken since holding the baby.

"Of course she is" Sherlock returned gently, watching as Joan slowly removed her hand from the baby's body, relief sweeping over her features as she wrapped her back up in the blanket. "As are you, Watson" Sherlock added, watching Joan as she slowly lifted the child and held her to her once more. "The placenta was delivered in tact and the bleeding has completely subsided" he stated, watching as Joan nodded once in understanding. Sherlock continued to watch her for a few moments as she held the baby to her, the relief that she was experiencing at her child's safety failing to conceal the sad and forlorn look in her eyes. At first Sherlock had wondered whether she was in some acute pain. He knew that she would be in considerable discomfort and undoubtedly feeling exhausted, but that was not what he saw in her eyes. In the look she was giving her daughter, one which he could best describe as fear tinged with guilt, he saw something which completely overrode pain. "Are you alright?" he asked gently, causing Joan to look towards him.

"I'm fine" she returned, her voice low and tired. "She's okay too. She's responsive and alert, she is breathing without any difficulty and her heart rate is normal" she continued, her voice becoming stronger as she spoke. "She seems to be a healthy weight, too. I'd guess she's around seven pounds."

"Six pounds thirteen ounces" Sherlock stated, watching as Joan's eyes rose instantly to meet his.

"Right" she stated, a small smile playing on her lips as she looked down upon the child, before lifting her head and facing Sherlock with feigned confidence. "Thank you" she added simply, which Sherlock returned with a small nod.

Sherlock and Joan watched each other for a few more moments before the soft gurgling of the baby drew both of their attention back to her. Sherlock watched as Joan adjusted her hold on the infant, whose soft and gentle noises fascinated him. Sherlock and Joan sat in silence for several minutes as he watched her holding the child, who remained calm and still in her mother's arms.

"She appears to already possess the patented Joan Watson look of analytical consideration" Sherlock stated, causing Joan to exhale a light breath. "She was looking at me in the same way you did when we first met."

"I'll have to caution her against dropping her handbag in front of you or lending you her car" Joan returned, earning a fleeting smile and nod from Sherlock, who then turned his attention back to the people before him.

There was something about the image of Watson holding her child that he found mesmerising and completely captivating. Whether it was due to the suddenness of the child's birth and his complete ignorance to her pregnancy, and the subsequently surreal nature of the situation he could not be certain. But regardless of the unpredictable current circumstances, Sherlock found himself observing that he had never seen something which appeared more natural and more completely and utterly unquestionable. And yet, there was something in Watson's eyes which held the deepest sadness and guilt that he had witnessed upon another human being, and it troubled him deeply. But before he could react to it his attention was drawn away from Joan's eyes and to her body, which appeared to be shaking slightly, as her skin became noticeably paler.

"You're trembling" he commented, pushing himself up on his knees and leaning forwards, his face just inches from hers as she turned to face him.

"I'm fine" she stated dismissively, watching as Sherlock's eyes travelled analytically across her body, which was shaking slightly but visibly. Sherlock's eyes darted across her once more before he placed a hand on the ground and pushed himself to his feet. He walked back towards her wardrobe and stood on his tiptoes as he reached for two blankets on the top shelf, pulling them towards him in a single deft movement before carrying them back to Watson. Sherlock knelt beside her and wrapped the thicker of the dark blankets across her shoulders and chest, so that it was also wrapped around the baby in her arms. His hand lingered upon her shoulder for a moment as he adjusted the blanket around her and removed her hair from the back of it, causing her to turn slowly towards him and watch him with a calm expression. Sherlock removed the towel from Joan's legs and placed the blanket across her, covering her completely and ensuring that she was warm. She did not appear to have lost any more blood since the baby's arrival, but her paleness and shaking made him believe that the blood loss she had already suffered during her labour was having a direct affect upon her, even if she was reluctant to admit so herself. Sherlock watched as Joan held the baby closer to her, adjusting the blankets around her so that she was covered and warm. She needed something to revitalise her, something to restore some of the energy and liquid she had so recently lost. Sherlock knew that encouraging her to eat would be futile, but he needed to assist her and prevent her condition from deteriorating. Her energy was focused on her baby, which was completely understandable. But she needed to be taken care of too.

"I'll make you some tea" he stated simply, rising from the ground and walking briskly from the room before Joan had time to respond.

The baby began to gurgle lightly on her arms, causing Joan's attention to return immediately to the infant. Joan lifted her right hand and extended her fingers towards her daughter, running her fingertips lightly over her cheek as she yawned and flexed her little arms. Joan felt a lump rise in her throat, which she swallowed as she blinked back the tears which were brimming in her eyes. She registered the sound of the kettle boiling in the background, which suddenly made her wary of the time, and how little time she had before she had to carry out the decision she had made many months ago. A decision which, as she predicted, was harder than she knew it would be following the arrival of her baby. Joan held the baby close to her, looking down at her sweet face and delicate features, before glancing back towards the kitchen area where Sherlock stood. She had no choice.

Sherlock filled the kettle and began searching through Watson's cupboards for some of her mother's medicinal tea, of which he felt certain she would maintain a readily-prepared supply. The opening of the third cupboard confirmed his deduction, and he set about preparing the tea. As he did so, he found himself becoming acutely aware of how his heart rate had increased significantly and his mind had begun to race since leaving Watson's bedroom. The previous thoughts and confusion and questions which he had forced to the back of his mind whilst assisting his former partner now appeared back to him in full force, battling themselves for dominance at the forefront of his mind. Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled in frustration, drumming his fingers upon his thigh in agitation as he tried to calm himself. With the increasing amount of questions that were forming in his mind, Sherlock found himself going over the very brief pieces of conversation he had shared with Watson since his arrival at the apartment. He remembered Joan making clear that Mycroft was the child's father and that he was unaware of her condition, which dominated his thought process, and caused him to re-examine the logic of her explanation for her decision not to tell him. It was clear that it was a decision she had found incredibly difficult which, due to Joan's innate honesty and loyalty to the people she is close to was completely understandable, as was the decision itself. As the kettle finished boiling and Sherlock began to pour the hot water into a large mug of herbal tea, he understood that knowledge of Mycroft's connection to the child would endanger both the infant and Watson. Le Milieu would certainly have found out about Watson's pregnancy had she not gone to such lengths to conceal it, and if they had done so, he dreaded to think what their course of action would be. To punish Mycroft? Joan? To use the child as a weapon to illicit the compliance of himself, his brother and his former partner in various schemes? As Sherlock replaced the kettle and stirred the tea, he found his heart racing and a feeling of anger and adrenaline burning inside his body at the thought. He could only imagine what Watson must have gone through over the past eight months, wrestling with the same knowledge and pain. Alone. Watson had made it clear that she had concealed her pregnancy to protect Mycroft and their child. Although she had not stated so explicitly, Sherlock believed that Joan had not informed anyone of her condition. But as he stood in the kitchen and found himself battling his thoughts and confusion on the subject, he found himself wondering what Watson intended to do once the child was born.

Sherlock's attention was drawn from his thoughts by the buzzing of his phone in his pocket, which he extracted quickly and read the caller ID. It was Gregson. Sherlock inhaled quickly and answered the phone, speaking briefly and calmly to the Captain, who had called to see if he had any news on Joan. Sherlock calmly (and convincingly) explained that Watson was dealing with a case which demanded her entire attention. She had not realised that her battery had died until Sherlock had arrived at her apartment. Sherlock explained how, after some badgering, she had allowed him to assist her on the case. They were making significant headway and so he would have to wish the Captain goodnight. He apologised for forgetting to call and let him know Joan was okay, explaining that the case was highly engaging and required their complete attention, before thanking him for the call. Sherlock hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket, before walking briskly back into the bedroom. Sherlock paused in the doorway and stared in confusion at the sight before him, his eyes darting across the room briefly as he surveyed the scene before him in surprise

"Watson?" he began, his voice low and confused as he took a step towards his partner, who was standing beside the bed, and was half-way through getting dressed.

Joan was wearing a pair of jeans and light brown boots, and was tugging a white top over her as Sherlock entered the room, the thin fabric of the material covering her as he entered. Joan turned towards him at the sound of her name being called, pulling her hair from out of the shirt as she did so. She did not respond immediately, and watched as Sherlock's eyes travelled quickly from her to the bed, where the baby was laying, surrounded by the blankets he had draped across Joan's shoulders less than five minutes before. Joan's face was pale and her body was trembling, and it was clear to Sherlock that she was in some discomfort, which was to be expected. He was amazed that she could stand and walk, let alone dress herself independently so quickly. It must have taken a lot of will power and strength, which Joan Watson utilised best when protecting someone. Which, as Sherlock correctly deduced, was precisely what she was doing now.

"Watson, what are you doing?" he asked, placing the tea on a chair by the door as he entered the room and walked towards her. Joan turned on the spot so that she was facing him directly, but the speed at which she did so and her levels of blood loss and exhaustion caused her to sway slightly on the spot as a wave of dizziness overcame her. Sherlock walked quickly towards her and placed one hand on her upper arm and the other on her waist, before gently guiding her back a few paces to the bed, where she sat without much encouragement. Sherlock heard Joan's sharp intake of breath as she slowly sat upon the bed, an act which clearly caused her some level of discomfort, which Sherlock was mindful of. As soon as she was seated on the bed Sherlock removed his hands slowly from her and sat beside her, turning towards her and looking upon her expectantly.

"The baby needs medical attention" Joan stated calmly, her voice low and words slurred with tiredness and pain. Sherlock turned his attention from her and towards the infant, who was sleeping just behind them, snuggled within the warm towel. "She's okay" Joan assured, watching as Sherlock's body became tense and rigid at his misunderstanding. "Sherlock, she's fine" Joan reassured him, watching as he slowly turned his attention back towards her. "But she's a premature newborn baby, she needs to be in a hospital" she explained gently. Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"I quite agree" he responded amiably. "But she is not the only one who requires medical attention." Sherlock watched as Joan's eyelids flickered and her breathing pattern changed slightly. She evaded his gaze for a brief moment to glance at the baby, before turning her attention back to him.

"I'm not going to hospital, Sherlock" she stated confidently. Sherlock stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he absorbed her words.

"Watson, you've just-"

"I know" she interrupted, her voice low but confident. "I'm okay, really" she stated simply, forcing a weak smile as she spoke in a vain attempt to reassure him. "If I go into a hospital it will be very clear what... what happened here tonight" she continued, watching as Sherlock's eyes darted across her face, before fixing themselves on hers. "If I go to a hospital my pregnancy and details of the baby's delivery will be put on file. If people find out I was pregnant they're gonna know how far along I was, which means that it will be fairly obvious who the father was. The baby will be in danger and so will he. I can't risk that" she stated, her words soft yet confident. /

Sherlock stared at Joan for a moment, his mind racing as he considered her words and deduced her actions, which caused fear to rise within him to a greater to degree than he thought possible. Joan was clearly unwell and in pain, but she had the look of determination and resolution upon her weary and pained features that he recognised.

"What are you suggesting?" he asked, his voice low and his heart pounding against his chest as he found himself already knowing the answer.

Joan stared at Sherlock for a moment, resolving not to break his gaze as she spoke. She needed to stay strong. "I'm going to do the only thing I can to protect this baby" Joan stated simply, her eyes becoming glassy and her voice becoming slightly choked as she spoke. Sherlock stared at her with a look which almost perfectly mirrored her own. "I brought her into this world and have placed her in the most incredible danger. The only way she can stay safe is to be taken to somewhere where no one knows who I am, who she is or where she came from" she continued, watching as Sherlock watched her silently, his face awash with emotion as he waited for her to continue. "I'm taking her to a safe haven."


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock stared at Joan for a moment, his eyes studying her features, which were tense and apprehensive and betraying the emotional state she was desperately trying to conceal. He fixed his gaze upon her eyes and found the expression she had worn since his arrival, the fear mixed with guilt and desperation, burned into her very being. Her body was practically radiating with fear and apprehension. But also with great conviction and an unwavering resolve.

"A safe haven?" He asked, his voice low and slightly hesitant. Joan nodded slowly in response, clearing her throat and looking back at him with the pained expression upon her face.

"They're anonymous, they're… they're safe and-" she began, breaking off for a moment as her voice began to break. "She'll get immediate medical treatment and the best possible care. She'll be well looked after, protected." Sherlock watched her with unblinking eyes, his body tense and his expression one of confusion melting away into understanding.

"Is that what you want?" he asked gently, his voice low and kind, but not betraying his emotions. Joan faced him directly and looked slightly confused.

"For her to be well taken care of and protected?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

"For us to take her to a safe haven" Sherlock returned instantly, watching her with a kind and open expression. Joan swallowed and inhaled a sharp breath, and Sherlock watched as her shoulders tensed and her hands flexed slightly upon her knees.

"I want what's best for her" Joan explained, her voice low and gentle. "And that's not here. Not with me. Not… not with everything that she would be exposed to. Everything that she is exposed to and will continue to be at risk from until she is taken some place safe."

"You are referring to Le Milieu? And the threat they pose to Mycroft and, by extension, to his child?" Sherlock asked gently. Joan nodded slowly in response.

"Mainly, yes. As I said before, if they discovered that Mycroft was alive they would search for him. And if they couldn't find him, they could find her" Joan explained, her voice low and breaking slightly. She inhaled deeply and continued to speak, her voice imbued with greater confidence. "And even if they didn't suspect that he is alive, they could still pose a threat to her if they ever discovered her connection to him. Which they would, if they found out that I am her-" Joan began, breaking off suddenly as she spoke.

"Her mother" Sherlock stated, his voice gentle and kind. Joan swallowed hard and turned back towards him.

"If my connection to her is discovered then Mycroft's connection to her will be too" she stated. Sherlock nodded.

"You are right, of course. The child's connection to my brother would place her in danger" he stated, watching as Watson turned towards him with an alert expression. They were both silent for a moment before Sherlock posed a question he had been considering since her labour. "Earlier you told me that you had not informed Mycroft of your condition" he began, looking up to her and watching as she slowly nodded in response. "There are… several reasons for this, many of which we have touched upon already" he stated, gesturing slightly with his hands as he spoke. "Is it because of the risk of their familial association that you did not apprise him of your condition?" he asked, watching as Joan looked back at him with unblinking eyes.

"When I found out I was pregnant" she began, pressing her lips together and looking down for a moment, before composing herself and turning back towards Sherlock. "I thought about telling him. He gave us both contact information for emergencies and I considered using it" she began, her voice low and weary. "I also thought about telling you" she added, watching as Sherlock's eyes widened slightly as he looked at her. "I almost did once" she added, her eyes adopting a pensive and reflective expression, before turning back towards him with a look of conviction. "But I quickly realised that I couldn't. Mycroft finding out about the baby would prompt him to return to New York and would endanger them both. And I couldn't put you in a position where you had the knowledge of this baby's existence and had to conceal it from your own brother" she stated, her body tensing for a moment. "Which is precisely what I have done now."

"Watson, please" Sherlock stated, her voice low and gentle. "You are quite correct. Mycroft would have returned to New York and it would have endangered you and your child. It would have been precisely the rash, irresponsible behaviour I would have expected from-"

"Stop" Joan stated, her voice adopting an authoritative tone which was offset by a pleading look in her eyes. Sherlock looked at her with confusion for a moment, his eyes drifting over her face analytically as she continued to speak. "Mycroft would've wanted to be here to make sure that the baby and I were okay. You can't blame him for that. He would have wanted to protect us-"

"Yes, and in doing so he would have endangered you both" Sherlock stated, his voice rising and his consternation increased, and he looked at Watson with an exacerbated expression. Joan felt a combination of anger and sadness rise within her, until she felt as though her entire body was on fire. "Which is precisely the level of unthinking that my brother is renowned for" Sherlock added, watching as Watson stood up and took a couple of steps away from the bed as she did so, before turning back to face him.

"Well I guess it's a good job I didn't tell him then" she returned angrily, staring at Sherlock with blazing eyes and a pained expression.

Sherlock and Joan stared at each other for a few moments before Joan blinked and turned away, crossing her arms across her chest and inhaling deeply. Sherlock processed his words and hers, and upon observing the painful affect his statements had had on his already fraught and tormented partner, he felt what he now recognised as guilt wash over him. He sighed and lowered his head, placing the bottom of his palms upon his head as he exhaled, before looking back up towards Joan with a calm expression.

"Watson, I-" he began, rising from his seat on the bed and stepping towards his former partner, pausing as Joan began to speak at the same time.

"Mycroft and I are both adults and we decided to sleep together" she stated calmly, her voice low and gentle. "I understand that you disapproved and I know that you still disapprove of some of his actions and attitudes" she continued, watching as Sherlock watched her patiently. "But you cannot blame him for this" she stated with conviction. Sherlock looked at her with a puzzled expression, finding himself feeling slightly confused.

"For what?"

"For my pregnancy" she returned simply. "For the baby. And for all the dangers that she is now facing because of what we did and what we are a part of." Watson's voice was becoming heavy with emotion and her paleness and unsteadiness on her feet was clearly returning. Sherlock took several steps towards her until they were just inches apart, his eyes staring directly into hers as she looked up at him with concern and pain.

"Watson, I-" Sherlock began, his voice low and gentle. "I apologise" he stated simply, watching as she looked up at him with wide eyes. "I am not angry at my brother for having fathered a child with you, nor am I disgruntled by how I feel certain he would act if he were aware of the child's existence" he continued, watching as Watson watched him with a wary and slightly apprehensive expression. "I am… I am frustrated that the circumstances surrounding the child's existence and parentage are placing you in the most difficult and traumatic position any individual could ever face" he added, his wide eyes heavy with emotion. "You do not deserve this" he stated simply, clenching his fists by his sides in frustration. There was a brief silence which fell between them, with only the sound of the baby's breathing breaking the silence. Joan ran her eyes over Sherlock's body, observing his tenseness and rigid posture. The fact that he was so powerless in this situation, a situation involving a baby who was genetically related to them both, must torment him unimaginably. Joan took a step towards her former partner and reached out towards him, placing her hand gently over his clenched fist, which was trembling by his side, but relaxed slightly beneath her touch.

"I'm sorry" she stated simply, her voice low, almost an echo of a voice. Sherlock lifted his head slowly and met her gaze, their faces so close they were almost touching, as he stared deep into the depths of her eyes.

"You have absolutely nothing to apologise for" he stated with conviction, his voice so certain and assured that she almost believed him. Sherlock inhaled deeply and looked up at her once more. "You protected this child and my brother, and are continuing to do so, even though it involves making a decision which is tormenting you" he stated, watching as her eyelids flickered and her eyes brimmed with tears.

"It's the only way" she stated, attempting a small and reassuring smile, which was unsuccessful. Sherlock watched her for a moment before his eyes grew slightly and adopted an intelligent and knowing expression that she recognised.

"What if it's not?" he asked in a low voice.

"What?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion. Sherlock's hands slowly unclenched and he adjusted his standing position, placing a hand gently upon Joan's left arm.

"What if you have another choice?" he began, staring at her confused expression and continuing to speak before she had a chance to respond. "What if you left, both of you?" he began, watching Joan's confused expression as he spoke. "I could get you both passports and provide you with sufficient funds to leave the state, the country, even" he stated, watching as Joan's eyes slowly fell from his face. "You could create a life for yourselves in another country, you could be together." Joan slowly looked back towards him, her face pale and her eyes wide and tearful. He knew her answer before she even spoke.

"Thank you, Sherlock" she began gently. "That's a really kind, generous offer" she continued, watching him as she spoke. "But it would only eliminate half the problem" she stated, as Sherlock looked upon her with wide and alert eyes. "It isn't just her association with Mycroft that endangers her life, but also with me" she explained, waiting a moment before continuing. "Le Milieu and the other organisations and individuals we have become known to through our work, and Mycroft through his, all pose a threat to her. Le Milieu is the greatest one, and they are based around the world, I couldn't guarantee her safety wherever we went" she continued. "And think of everyone you and I have helped to convict or expose. We are in danger on a daily basis, and that danger would be increased for her. She wouldn't just be in danger from people in our past, but from those in our future. People who would use her to get to us" she stated, watching as Sherlock looked at her with a frustrated expression, his eyes affirming his knowledge that she was right. "She wouldn't be much safer with me alone under a new identity than she would be if she were associated with Mycroft. You know that, don't you?" she added, watching as Sherlock turned towards her with blazing eyes and tense features. "We can't justify it. No matter how much I…" Joan paused, inhaling slightly and turning towards Sherlock with confidence. "This is the only way" she stated, her voice becoming slightly choked as she spoke.

"It can't be" he returned, his body language displaying clearly the signs of his increased levels of agitation and frustration. "No" he added, his eyes ablaze as his mind began to race. "There will be another way, Watson, we just-"

"No" she stated with conviction, watching as his shoulders tensed as he turned towards her. "This is the best chance she has at having a safe, normal life. One free from what we do and what we've done, and all the dangers associated with it" she added. "She deserves a normal life, the chance to make her own choices and be the person she wants to be" Joan explained, taking a step towards Sherlock as she spoke, trying to placate him with her voice and her presence. "That is an opportunity that she, and every child, deserves. I will not take it away from her, or compromise her chances of happiness and expose her to a life of danger and uncertainty when she is less than thirty minutes old. I owe her that" Joan added, her voice breaking. Sherlock exhaled slowly, closing his eyes and lowering his head.

Sherlock nodded slowly in understanding, turning slightly towards Watson as he looked down upon her with a placating expression. She seemed tired and pained and emotionally fraught, but she was attempting to conceal it all. The fact that he was inadvertently adding to her torment pained him, and he immediately regretted his conduct over the past couple of minutes, and sought desperately to make amends.

"Despite the circumstances of her birth and the dangers associated with her existence, I believe she is a very lucky child" Sherlock stated, causing Joan to look up at him with a bewildered expression. He faced her directly and held her gaze as their eyes met. "To have a mother who loves her as much as you do. Who is willing to make such sacrifices to ensure her safety and happiness" he continued. "If only all children were fortunate enough to have a parent who places their best interests so far above and beyond their own desires" he stated reflectively, turning towards the sleeping child on the bed, who appeared to be waking. "And she will never know it" he added, his eyes watching the baby, who was making soft sounds from her position on the bed. "I feel I must amend one point though, Watson" he stated, turning towards Joan who was looking up at him with a calm yet wary expression. "You spoke of what _you_ owe her, of what you are going to do to ensure her safety" he stated, watching as Joan nodded confidently in response. "I hope that, should you permit it, you would change that to _we_" he stated, looking down confidently upon her. "Will you allow me to assist you, Watson?"

"Yes" she stated breathlessly, her eyes wide and brimming with tearful gratitude.

Watson's emotional eyes remained fixed upon Sherlock, who observed that each time the baby made a small noise or whimper, her eyelids would flicker and she'd peer to the side, as if hoping to catch a furtive glimpse of her child, who was resting just a few inches behind her. Sherlock noticed how the guilty expression seemed to intensify when she turned towards the baby, who had now begun to cry openly, her tiny arms pushing up from the safety of the blanket as her little face turned red with emotion. Watson sniffed and turned to the side, walking past Sherlock reaching across the bed to pick up the infant, whose cries were becoming louder and whose fists were clenched. Sherlock found himself moving instinctively towards Watson and her child, whose pained and distressed cries seemed to rouse in him a protective instinct which demanded immediate action. He stood near Joan, his body tense and his senses heightened, as he watched her attempt to calm the crying child. Sherlock's eyes drifted across the infant with interest, studying her small body and searching for any signs of what could be causing her to be so distressed. Until this point the child had been almost silent, crying briefly after her birth but calming as soon as she was held by either himself or Joan. But this time the physical contact and gentle voice of Joan Watson did not seem enough to placate the crying child, who was continuing to wail and wriggle in her mother's arms. As Sherlock looked upon the child with a nervous and concerned expression, he found himself wondering how much of the current situation she understood. There were certain to be studies relating to the perceptive abilities of infants, exploring how they acted and reacted to certain issues and conditions. Perhaps the small infant in Watson's arms was distressed by some knowledge or understanding of the subject that he and her mother were discussing.

"Hey, it's alright, shhh, it's okay" Joan soothed, holding the baby close to her chest and gently rocking her from side to side. "You're okay, you're okay" she stated, her voice low and gentle. The baby seemed to be beginning to respond to Watson's voice and assurances, and her cries began to slowly subside, as her trembling arms began to relax. "Shhh, shhh, it's okay" Joan soothed, cradling the child as she rocked her, and running her right hand gently across her head, the baby's soft hair brushing against her palm. Sherlock watched as Joan's eyes grew wide and tearful, causing his former partner to blink furiously and turn her head from him, before turning back to the baby and continuing to soothe her. Watson seemed unable to speak at that time, and so continued to soothe the child by gently repeating 'shhh' in a gentle and placating manner, until the baby's once loud cries subsided into gentle sobs, before she became completely calm, her soft gurgling noises replacing her previous distress. Sherlock walked slowly towards Joan, standing beside her once more and gazing down upon the infant.

"Is she alright?" he asked gently, his eyes drifting from the infant to Joan and back to the baby.

"Yes" Joan returned immediately, adjusting her hold on the baby, who she cradled close to her chest. Joan's head was slightly inclined and her eyes were fixed upon the child, who was looking up at her with a calm and almost serene expression. Sherlock watched with great interest how the baby looked up at her mother, whose very presence seemed to calm her quickly.

"I'd imagine she recognises your voice" he stated in a low and gentle manner. "It soothes her, provides her with a greater degree of comfort than she is able to receive from many other individuals or affects."

"Yeah, maybe" Joan returned, her eyes not leaving the baby as she spoke. Sherlock's eyes drifted from the baby and back to Joan, who was breathing in deeply and appeared slightly unsteady on her feet. She was tired and weak from the recent labour, and the fact that she had been standing and involved in an emotionally fraught discussion with him was harbouring her recovery. Ideally she needed calmness, peace and rest, all of which he felt certain she would deny herself until she knew that her baby was safe. Perhaps even indefinitely.

"Watson, won't you sit down?" Sherlock asked, placing one hand on her lower back and encouraging her back towards the bed.

"No. Thanks" she stated, turning towards Sherlock as she spoke. His was standing beside her, their bodies so close she could feel his warmth upon her. "We should leave soon. We have to get her to a hospital." Sherlock watched Watson for a few moments, his eyes travelling across her face, before he nodded slowly in agreement.

"Of course" he stated, his voice low and hesitant. "Will you allow me to make the arrangements? Transport, I mean. And assistance for when we arrive?" Joan looked up at Sherlock and watched him as she considered his words. She was not sure precisely what he meant by the last part of his statement, but she trusted him unreservedly and without question. She nodded in agreement.

"Sure" she returned. "Thank you". Sherlock nodded in response, his eyes falling upon the child once more, who was resting peacefully in her mother's arms. Joan watched as Sherlock's eyes grew wider and adopted a calm, reflective expression that she had seldom seen upon his face. As she considered this, the weight of the baby seemed to increase in her grasp, and she found herself looking up at Sherlock and considering his expression, before making a suggestion she wondered whether he would accept. "Would you like to hold her?" she asked gently.

Sherlock instantly looked up from the baby and turned towards Joan, his eyes meeting hers and watching her for a moment, as if trying to evaluate whether the words had come from her and whether the offer was genuine. "It's okay" she added reassuringly, watching the slightly panicked and uncertain expression that seemed to be spreading across his features. "If it's not something you're comfortable with you don't have to-"

"May I?" he asked, standing up straighter and looking from the baby to Watson. Joan nodded, taking a step towards Sherlock and gently easing the baby into his waiting arms. She helped to adjust his arms and hands so he was supporting the child as he held her. The baby remained calm and relaxed, and Sherlock's attention was completely upon her, as he drew her subconsciously closer to his chest. Joan looked from Sherlock to the baby as he gazed down upon her in a manner which made her question whether he had ever seen a baby before, let alone held one. She would have asked him about it, but she did not wish to draw his attention from the baby, whose company they were blessed with for only a short while longer. As she considered this thought with sadness, her attention was drawn back towards the former partner and her child, as his expression became confused and wary. Joan narrowed her eyes in confusion and took a step closer to Sherlock, drawing back some of the towel as she looked upon the baby, who had reached up one of her small hands and leaned closer into Sherlock's chest, making soft snuffling noises as she did so. Joan's features relaxed and she seemed almost at ease as she looked up at Sherlock, who turned from the infant and looked at her expectantly. "She's trying to snuggle into you" Joan explained, her voice low and soft. "She wants to be closer to you" she added, as she ran her finger gently over the child's delicate hand, before looking up at Sherlock and turning to the side slightly. "Here" she stated, placing her hand upon Sherlock's right one and drawing his finger close to the baby, who gripped it immediately and held on tight. Joan watched as Sherlock's eyes adopted a calm, serene expression as he watched the baby in his arms with interest, his thumb stroking her wrist and arm gently as she clung to him. They remained like this, silently and in perfect calmness, for a couple of minutes, until Sherlock felt his whole body begin to burn with indescribable anguish, which Joan had begun to detect, as had the baby, who began to cry lightly. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly at the sound and he turned nervously towards Watson.

"It's alright" she soothed, addressing Sherlock more than the baby, as her former partner gently passed the infant over to her, and she settled herself calmly in her mother's arms. Sherlock felt a curious and indescribable feeling at the infant's absence, as though all his nerve endings were completely on edge, as if his entire body was alight. Joan looked up at him with concern.

"Sherlock-"

"I have some calls to make, to-" he began, inclining his head and drumming his fingers lightly on his thigh as he shifted on the spot. "To make the arrangements" he added, clearing his throat and rising his head to face Joan. "I'll be in the kitchen" he stated, nodding a couple of times and walking quickly from the room. Joan was poised to call after him but decided against it. He needed some time alone to process everything, to work through what was happening. She would not deny him that. Instead, Joan looked down at the baby in her arms, who was now wide awake and very alert, and staring up at her. Joan's lips played into a small, sad smile as she rocked the child slightly in her arms. She remained standing perfectly still as she gazed down upon her child for several moments, before swallowing hard and forcing a small smile.

"Let's get you ready, okay?" she whispered softly, holding the baby close to her chest as she carried her slowly towards the bathroom.

Sherlock walked briskly into the kitchen and turned on a switch, causing several small lights above the breakfast bar to flicker on and send strobes of light yellow light down upon the shimmering surface. Sherlock walked around the breakfast bar and pulled his phone from his pocket and, after a few minutes of research, he nodded in contentment at the arrangements. He scrolled through his contacts lists and made two brief phone calls, his direct requests and clear instructions being agreed to by the individuals on the other end. Sherlock nodded briefly as he hung up the second call and placed the phone back in his pocket. As soon as he did so he felt his arm brush lightly against his chest, and his eyes travelled down his body and towards his black waistcoat. Sherlock felt his eyes widen and his chest tighten as he remembered the feel of the baby leaning closer into him, gripping his finger. He could perfectly recall her weight, the feel of her in his arms, even her smell. In indescribable, wonderful scent. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply in an attempt to calm himself, to reduce his current levels of frustration and anger at his inability to help the child and her mother. In his self-condemning and emotional state, he remained completely oblivious to how much he was assisting them both. But as he clenched his hands and flexed his fingers, he found himself remembering the feeling of the baby in his arms even more clearly than before. Her weight, her scent, the softness of her skin, all returned to him in full force. Sherlock felt his breathing increase and his heart beat mercilessly against his chest as he battled to calm himself. Before he could reach the levels of calmness where he could open his eyes and allow himself back into the moment, he found the images and memories of the baby intensified by his recollection of the soft, snuffling sounds of contentment she made when she was resting happily in his arms. Without thinking and with little anticipation Sherlock took a single step forward before turning to the left and punching Watson's kitchen wall, the waves of pain which ran through him allowing him a temporary reprieve from his own torment.

Joan carried the baby carefully towards the bathroom, holding her securely to her chest as she put the plug in the sink and began to run the taps, filling the white basin with warm water. Joan opened the medicine cabinet and removed a packet of cotton wool balls, taking one out at a time, soaking it in the warm liquid, and using it to clean the baby, who had some traces of blood and liquid on her skin from her birth. Joan acted on autopilot, her eyes wide and hazy and her hands working on their gentle ministrations without thought, as she quickly cleaned up the infant, who made content snuffling noises as the warm cotton was drawn gently over her skin. Joan was mainly silent but occasionally spoke some soothing words of kindness or praise to the infant in her arms, who seemed relaxed in her presence and responsive to her voice. The wide, intelligent eyes of the baby continued to watch Joan with fascination, as she calmly allowed her mother to clean her without protesting once. When she was finished Joan wrapped the blanket back around the baby and let the water out of the sink, carrying the infant back into the bedroom. Joan lay her gently down upon the duvet on her bed before pulling a white polythene bag out from under her bed and placing the contents beside the infant. Joan withdrew a small packet of nappies, some talcum powder, a white sleep-suit and matching hat, and a soft cream blanket. Joan lay the items beside the child, who she began to dry with a fresh warm towel, as she gently kicked and wriggled, enjoying the unrestricted space she had. Joan inhaled a shaking breath as she applied talcum powder to the infant, rubbing it into her delicate skin with care, before putting her nappy on and easing her into her sleep suit and hat. By the time Sherlock returned into the bedroom Joan had swaddled the baby in the soft cream blanket and was holding her tenderly to her chest. At the sound of her former partner's approaching footsteps she looked up, and immediately noticed that something was wrong, and a brief scan of his body quickly revealed what that was. His left hand seemed perfectly fine, but the fingers on his right hand were curled inwards and flexing slightly beneath the makeshift white bandage he had placed across his hand.

"What happened?" she asked as she held the baby close to her chest and took a few steps towards Sherlock, her eyes falling upon her hand.

"Nothing, Watson, it's quite alright" he stated, looking from Joan to the newly dressed infant, his eyes widening and adopting a now familiar expression which, until that night, Joan had never witnessed before, but would never forget.

"It's not alright, you're hurt. How did this happen?" she stated, reaching down and drawing his hand close to her.

"I punched a wall" he stated simply, causing Joan to turn towards him with a confused expression which quickly abated. It was quite clear what had caused him to lose his temper.

"Are you alright?" she asked in a low and gentle voice as she adjusted her hold on the baby.

"Perfectly fine, thank you. The injuries are quite superficial. Your landlord should use stronger materials in his buildings" Sherlock stated dismissively.

"I wasn't referring to your injury" she replied in a low, kind tone. Sherlock looked at her for a moment before drumming his fingers on his thigh and turning back to her.

"I called Alfredo and he has driven a car to the back of this building, where he has left it. I gave him no details of its purpose or intended use" he assured her, watching as Joan nodded in understanding.

"Thank you" she stated simply, not wishing to press the former issue further, knowing that now was not the appropriate time.

"We'll take the elevator to the-"

"We have to take the stairs" Joan interrupted, watching as Sherlock looked at her with confusion. "The elevators in the building have CCTV" she explained. "The staircases don't, and it'll lead us directly to the back of the building." Sherlock watched her for a moment, knowing that advising against her plan would be futile.

"Are you quite certain that you can manage the stairs?" he asked, kindness and consideration present in his tone.

"I'll be fine" she assured him calmly. Sherlock watched her uncertainly for a moment before nodding. "It's only three flights, it won't be a problem."

Sherlock nodded briefly before outlining his plan to her. He explained that he would drive them to a hospital in the city where one of his irregulars would meet them. He stated that they would arrive at the hospital at the time of a changeover of medical staff, meaning that several doctors and nurses would be outside the building at the time of their arrival.

"I have requested one of my irregulars, Amelia, a very capable investigator and completely trust-worthy individuals, meet us outside the hospital. I have not told her the purpose but I thought that, given your desire to minimise the chances of the baby being connected to you or to me, we could ask her to take her to a member of the medical team" Sherlock explained gently, watching as Joan held the baby slightly closer to her chest. "I can ask her to leave as soon as we arrive if you are uncomfortable with the idea, and you can take the child yourself if that is what you would like" he explained gently. "If not, we can remain in the car and watch until the baby is-"

"Yes" Joan stated in a low but confident voice. "You're right, that's safer. It's a good precaution." Sherlock watched Joan for a moment, his eyes travelling across her features and searching for signs of discomfort, of which he found many.

"Watson, are you certain?" he asked kindly.

"Yes" she returned instantly, inhaling deeply as she held the baby close. "Are you ready?" Sherlock nodded, picking up his discarded jacket from the ground and putting it on, before walking towards Watson's wardrobe and removing a black jacket, which he carefully draped across her shoulders.

"It's quite cold outside" he stated in a low and gentle voice as he draped the garment across her, before standing by her side and pulling the material across her so that she was covered, his eyes drifting down to the now-sleeping infant. Joan watched as Sherlock looked at the baby with a calm expression and wide, unblinking eyes. "Will she be warm enough?" he asked, looking back up towards Joan.

"Yes" she reassured him. "Her clothing is cotton and the blanket is thick. She'll be comfortable and very warm" she stated, returning her gaze to her child, and missing the pained look which flashed across Sherlock's eyes as he walked past her and towards the bed, removing the bloodied towels and bedding from the bed and floor and placing them into a black bag which he pulled from his pocket. Joan watched as he tied the bag off and held it beside him.

"These are the only remaining evidence of the fact that you gave birth tonight" he explained gently. "I will burn everything so that there will be no trace." Joan nodded silently and adjusted her hold on the baby before walking towards Sherlock and following him through the apartment.

Joan walked slower than usual but at a pace which surprised Sherlock, who repeatedly encouraged her to slow down, even decreasing his own walking pace. After a few minutes they made it to the bottom of the stair case and outside the back of the building where a black people carrier with tinted windows was parked. Sherlock walked towards the vehicle and assisted Joan and the baby into it before walking back towards the building and placing the black bag into a tin dustbin and setting it on fire. Joan watched from the car as all the proof of what happened that night was burned away, obscured from view and removed from history. She held the baby tighter as the flames subsided and Sherlock made his way back towards the car.

Sherlock drove them through the city, whose bright lights continued to burn and light up the streets. Some drunken students walked unsteadily down the pavement, couples on dates and groups of friends walked down the streets, and several cars cruised through the city beneath the dark sky and burning stars. The brief journey was made in almost total silence, with Sherlock understanding that these were the last moments that Watson would be spending with her infant daughter, and the furthest he intruded upon their sacred time was the frequent glances at them in the mirror to ensure that all was well. On the last occasion he caught Watson's eyes, and found her wide and uncertain gaze staring back at him.

Sherlock pulled into the parking lot about twenty meters from the entrance of the hospital, and the car came to a complete stop, the vibrations from the engine abating and causing Joan's chest to tighten. Somehow sitting in a parked car of the hospital parking lot as the bright lights of its name shone down imposingly upon the space before them made the situation even more real than she already knew it to be. Joan stared at the hospital and was vaguely aware of the sound of Sherlock's voice, but it took her several moments until she was able to focus on it completely.

"Watson" he called gently, causing her to blink and turn towards him on the third occasion her name was mentioned.

"It's okay" she mumbled, inhaling deeply as she spoke, the rising tension in her body being perceived by her infant daughter, who began to become unsettled in her arms. Joan turned her head down towards the baby and soothed her, speaking to her gently and running her hand comfortingly up her back, which settled her slightly, but not completely. She was still notably unsettled. Sherlock watched the scene before him with pain bordering on anguish, before turning towards the ER doors, where doctors whose shifts were ending were greeting those coming on shift. His eyes then drifted to the figure of Amelia, who was navigating her way through a sea of cars and heading directly towards them.

"The doctors are congregating outside the building" Sherlock announced, earning a small nod in response from Joan. "Amelia is approaching the vehicle" he added gently, watching as Joan's eyes grew slightly as she looked up. Joan watched as a thin, petite woman with dark hair and a kind expression walked towards the car, only for Sherlock to open his door and step out, heading towards her and preventing her from approaching any further. Joan stared at Amelia with interest for a moment, taking in the similarities of the physical characteristics they shared. It became clear to Joan why Sherlock had selected this particular irregular to assist with the matter at hand. Joan watched silently as Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a few words, the young woman's face never betraying any signs of confusion or uncertainty. She nodded in understanding to his statements, glancing occasionally towards the car but generally maintaining his gaze. After a few moments Sherlock nodded and turned on the spot, briskly walking back towards the car. He opened Watson's door a few inches and stood in front of it, completely shielding her from the view of any passer's by, including Amelia. Joan looked up at him as he stared down at her, and their eyes met with identical expressions of sadness and fear.

Before Sherlock could speak Joan undid her seatbelt and eased it off her, before edging forward in her seat and turning towards Sherlock who, completely understanding her actions and intentions, held out his arms, and watched silently as Joan eased the increasingly unsettled infant into her uncle's arms. Sherlock accepted the child immediately and held her close to him, holding her securely and protectively beneath his jacket before looking back towards Joan.

"Watson, are you-"

"Take her" Joan stated, her voice low and choked, as she looked back up towards him. "Please" she added, her eyes wide and tearful. Sherlock's analytical eyes scanned her for a few moments, before nodding once in agreement. Joan inhaled a shaking breath as Sherlock took a few steps back and shut the car door behind him, turning on the spot and walking briskly towards Amelia. He spoke to her for a few moments, which Joan observed with interest, before passing the infant to his irregular. Joan watched as Amelia held the baby close to her, using her jacket to shield her from the small amount of ran which was falling, as she carried her quickly to the doors of the ER, and approached two nurses, who were engaged in conversation. Joan watched as one of the nurses turned towards Amelia with a smile, which quickly turned into an expression of uncertainty and concern, as she took a step forward and accepted the baby from Amelia, who eased her into her arms. The second nurse approached Amelia and appeared to be speaking to her tenderly, possibly offering her medical treatment. Amelia, of course, brushed aside these concerns, indicating towards the baby and speaking to the nurses for a couple of minutes, before turning on the spot and walking through the car park. The nurses looked after her for a few moments, but as the rain began to fall harder their attention was drawn back to the infant, who they took into the building, the automatic doors closing behind them as they entered it quickly. Joan had been so engaged in the scene before her that she had not noticed Sherlock return to the vehicle and sit himself in the driver's seat.

Sherlock sat perfectly still and soundless behind the wheel for a few minutes, watching as Joan stared at the doors with wide and unblinking eyes, before crossing her arms across her chest and inhaling deeply. She was beginning to tremble. Sherlock turned the key in the ignition and drove the car out of the car park, heading back through the bright city lights and towards Joan's apartment. This journey, too, was travelled in silence.

Sherlock parked the car at the back of the building, where Alfredo would collect it in the morning. He got out of the driver's seat and walked towards Joan's door, holding it open for her and assisting her out of the vehicle, before walking her through the building and towards the staircase, which they ascended together. Neither of them spoke a word, the time being passed in complete silence. Joan's eyes were wide and fixed, and her movements were automatic and almost lifeless, but Sherlock knew that she needed time to process the recent events. His words would be of little comfort to her at this time, and he knew it. Instead, he stood close beside her, their bodies almost touching as they made their way up the stairs and towards her apartment. Sherlock watched as Joan removed a key from her jacket pocket and opened the door, stepping inside and walking slowly through the apartment, which was dark apart from the strobes of light from the kitchen ceiling, which danced upon the countertop. Joan turned towards the counter and placed her key on it beside her phone, in a momentary action which caused her to recall the last time she had done so, just a few hours earlier, when her child was still inside her. Joan blinked, her eyes feeling sore and red, as her hand drifted down to her slightly curved but empty abdomen. She felt cold.

Sherlock closed the apartment door behind him and walked slowly into the room, watching as Joan put her keys upon the counter and then appeared to freeze. Her back was to him but even in the relative darkness he could see that she was placing one hand onto her abdomen, before her whole body began to tremble. Sherlock watched as Joan's head lowered slightly and her shoulders shook, and small hitched breaths escaped her lips as she sobbed. Sherlock walked quickly towards her, reaching her in seconds. He placed one hand on her lower back and she turned towards him immediately, pressing her hand to her mouth as her gentle sobs turned into desperate and painful cries, as she collapsed against him. Sherlock wrapped his arms across her and held her tight, and could feel his shirt become saturated with her tears as she sobbed into him, grabbing handfuls of his jacket as she clung to him desperately. Sherlock had never seen Watson in this way before, and had not imagined it possible. Her composure was completely destroyed and her crying was pained, desperate and full of anguish. After a few minutes he felt her legs weaken and the pain and exhaustion she had experienced in the past hour or so finally overcame her. He held her and eased her to the ground, holding her close as she cried into his chest. Sherlock supported her back with one arm and placed his hand on the back of her head, running his hand gently across her in a soothing manner. The previous boundaries between them regarding their physical contact had broken down completely, and this was not the time for words. Instead, Sherlock held his tormented partner close to him for fifteen minutes as she cried desperately into him, before exhaustion and pain caused her body to finally force her to return to the unconscious.

Sherlock carried the sleeping Joan back to her bedroom, laying her gently upon her bed and covering her with the clean duvet. He sent off a couple of texts to Kitty and Gregson, excusing his and Watson's absence for the next few days, explaining that a case required their urgent attention and they were travelling out of state. He set Kitty a task involving some undercover work, which would keep her suitably engaged and uninclined to press Sherlock's whereabouts or actions too far.

Sherlock remained with Joan for three days, assisting her as she regained her strength. They spoke about the baby, about her life, about the freedom and safety that Joan had given her, and about the life she would be able to lead. The only thing they did not discuss was whether they thought they would ever see the little girl again. Joan found the subject too painful to broach and Sherlock knew her well enough not to mention it. The question would play on their minds throughout the years that passed, and remained eternally unanswered. Until one day, seventeen years after the baby's birth, when a kind, warm and intelligent young woman knocked on the door of New York's renowned consulting detectives with the intention of employing them to assist her in locating her birth parents. The door swung slowly open before her, and she peered nervously inside, her eyes resting upon the face of the well-known and celebrated detective, whose heart stopped as he looked down upon her, and found a familiar set of eyes staring back at him.


End file.
